Loyalty
by sphinx01
Summary: Prowl is a workaholic. Jazz knows how to deal with it.


Warning: Slash, mention of sex, sexual tension.

Disclaimer: I don't own The Transformers, and I don't make any money with this.

* * *

**Loyalty**

Prowl had a headache.

Of course, this was not possible, for a headache was - technically speaking - a malfunctioning in an organic brain. Since Prowl lacked an organic brain, he was physically unable to have a headache.

It didn't make the sensation more bearable, though.

His CPU was overheated, his systems overtaxed from nearly three Earth days of constant work. He had not recharged during this time, had only taken the shortest of breaks to casually refuel. It had worked fine so far, but now it seemed his systems had finally chosen to pay him back.

He leaned back in his chair and allowed himself a brief moment of recovery. Fact was, he had to keep the base running smoothly - that was his duty as Prime's SIC. And Prowl had never shunned responsibility. Everything he did - however bureaucratic and unimportant it might seem - he did for the good of this ship and its crew, and he would not allow this stupid CPU of his to prevent him from carrying out his duties.

He took a new datapad from his 'to do' stack and went back to work. It took him only a few klicks to become so absorbed again that he barely registered the soft chime of the door bell.

"Come in", he said absent-mindedly.

The door slid open. Prowl didn't bother to look up.

"Somebody home?"

The voice was a very welcome one, and Prowl couldn't help but return the warm smile his friend was giving him as he lifted his head.

"Hello, Jazz", he greeted. "I'm still quite busy here; would you mind dropping by later?"

The saboteur's smile took on a hint of sadness.

"You forgot it, didn't ya?"

"Forgot what?" Prowl asked, surprised.

"Our date", Jazz answered, stepping into the room. "Meeting. Appointment, whatever. We wanted to meet in the rec room and take a little joy ride together, remember?"

"Well, yes", Prowl said, becoming more confused by the minute. "But this meeting isn't due for another..." He checked his internal chronometer - and froze.

Primus, how could it be _that_ late already? Why hadn't his CPU sent him a reminder? But perhaps it had, and he had simply ignored and erased it along with all the warning messages he'd gotten during the last few joors.

What a slag.

"Jazz", he murmured, running a hand over his faceplates. "Jazz, I'm so sorry, I..."

His friend crossed the small distance between the door and the desk, his expression now one of genuine worry.

"Prowl", he said. "Prowl, you need a break."

"No, no, I'm fine, I just... lost track of time. We'll take this joy ride tomorrow, shall we?"

Jazz snorted indignantly.

"Forget the stupid joy ride. You're gonna fry your processor if you go on like this. You haven't recharged in three days."

"How do you know?" Prowl asked, taken aback.

A small smile tugged at the saboteur's lips.

"My quarters are across from yours, and I'm neither blind nor stupid. Besides, I know you too well."

It was Prowl's turn to snort.

"C'mon", his friend prompted, indicating the door with a nod. "You're gonna have some energon with me now."

"I can't, Jazz; I still haven't read Wheeljack's maintenance report on the main engines..."

"Prowl", Jazz said very patiently as if he was talking to a sparkling. "She managed a nose-first crash on Earth just fine and hasn't complained in four millennia. She's not gonna explode just because you haven't read a maintenance report yet."

"You don't understand", Prowl said, exasperated. "I am second-in-command. I have to set an example. How can I maintain the discipline on board if I cannot manage my own responsibilities? How can I expect the crew to fulfill their duties if I'm not capable of fulfilling mine? How can I..."

"Prowl."

He broke off, lifting his head.

Jazz had settled on the edge of his desk and was gazing down at him intently, his visor glowing a deep, soothing blue.

"Prowl", he repeated calmly. "Gimme your hands."

His voice was soft and gentle, but Prowl knew him well enough to realize that this was a command, not a request. He looked up at his friend questioningly, but the saboteur had evidently no intention of giving an explanation.

Tentatively, he placed his palms into Jazz' outstretched hands.

Jazz smiled and, lifting both their hands to his face, tenderly pressed his lips to Prowl's knuckles. Prowl felt his spark give a little flutter at the touch.

Jazz smiled again and then started rubbing his thumbs over Prowl's palms in slow, lazy circles.

Prowl's sensory circuits reacted promptly to the gentle touch, sending a warm, pleasant sensation up his arms and through his body.

"Jazz...", he protested weakly, but was hushed with a quiet 'Shh'. The saboteur switched to stroking his fingers, one by one, not missing a single spot, however small. Prowl sank back in his chair, defeated, and let his friend's gentle ministrations ease the tension out of his strained circuitry.

Jazz had started to murmur quietly in Cybertronian, his voice so low that Prowl could not make out the words, but the sound of their mother tongue was soothing in itself. His friend found a very sensitive spot near his right wrist, and he went practically limp with the deep relaxation that washed over him.

There was a faint glint in Jazz' visor that betrayed his amusement. "That good?" he asked playfully.

Try as he might, Prowl couldn't get his vocalizer to produce more than a contented 'Hmmm'. He felt all warm and comfortable and blissfully tired, and Jazz gave him a tender smile. Prowl was sure now. This was heaven.

He watched his friend with half-dimmed optics and suddenly felt a warm surge of affection and thankfulness towards the black and white saboteur. It seemed Jazz had already forgiven him his thoughtlessness. Maybe the offer to have some energon together was still standing. Maybe he could make up his lapse by spending the rest of the evening with his friend. Maybe Jazz would even be willing to consider...

It did not happen very often that they shared a berth. They both had other priorities in their lives, other things to worry about, and personally, Prowl preferred friendship to romance. But sometimes, just sometimes, they would seek each other out, and whenever that happened, it was always something special.

Prowl leaned forward, capturing Jazz' hands in his own and holding them tight. His friend looked at him expectantly, and Prowl felt his spark flutter and his door wings twitch a little on their own volition, as they always did when he got nervous or excited.

"Jazz..." he breathed.

His fingers received a short, reassuring squeeze, and then Jazz smiled at him.

Back on Cybertron, it had been common knowledge that Jazz knew how to enjoy himself. He was not the mech to neglect an opportunity when one presented itself, be it about a glittering party, a cube of fine high grade, or a casual interface. Prowl had heard all the gossip, and had had the chance to witness some of these occasions himself.

But he had never seen Jazz giving one of his temporary partners the smile he was giving _him_ now; so warm and tender, so full of affection and longing.

This smile belonged to him, Prowl thought, to him and him alone, and he felt proud and honored and touched all at once that Jazz would save something so beautiful for the rare occasions when their relationship reached a higher level of intimacy.

The saboteur slid off the desk and leaned over him to press a gentle kiss to his forehead, right between the V-shaped sensor panels that adorned Prowl's head.

"Come to my quarters when you're ready", he said simply, and his voice felt like warm energon. Carefully, he disentangled their fingers, and then he turned and left the room, all calm and unhurried, and Prowl looked after him until the door closed behind his friend.

He leaned back again and cycled his vents in a deep sigh. His HUD was free of any warning messages, and the headache-like sensation in his CPU had subsided. Thoughtfully, he gazed at the pile of datapads in front of him. There was still an awful lot of them...

A feeling of deep disgust suddenly crept over him at the thought of being stuck with reports for the rest of the night. He hesitated only a short moment before opening an internal comm link.

'Ironhide, this is Prowl. Do you read?'

'What's up?' came the grumpy response.

'I'm sorry, Ironhide, I know it's late, but I need help with some paperwork here. Would you mind seeing me tomorrow morning and relieving me of some of it?'

There was a short pause during which Prowl caught some quiet murmuring that sounded suspiciously like 'those young mechs' and 'never heard of tattoo, has he?', but then he got the answer he had hoped for:

'Aww, a'right, I can do that.'

'Thank you, Ironhide. Good night'

'Yeah, yeah, yeah...' A soft click indicated that the comm channel had been closed.

Prowl smiled softly as he stood and stretched his limbs. Feeling strangely free and unburdened and elated all at once, he turned off the lights and left the room without looking back, in eager anticipation of a night spent in far more pleasant company than that of an unread maintenance report.

**

* * *

**

This is the first Transformers story I have written solely in English; meaning this is an original rather than a translation. So for me, this is some kind of a premiere :-) Enjoy!


End file.
